


fandom_stocking contribution: Glee (Rachel/Puck/Quinn)

by recrudescence



Category: Glee
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can she be with a guy who has a <i>fight club</i>? (Spoilers for Sectionals.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fandom_stocking contribution: Glee (Rachel/Puck/Quinn)

Rachel can belt like nothing else and she’s just as loud in bed, whimpering and wailing and refreshingly off-key for once.

And that’s just from kissing.

And because she’s in tears.

Exchanging hugs and murmurs and little cheek-pecks with the nerd queen was never on Quinn’s agenda, but it’s what _she_ wants when she’s having a good, messy, sob-your-guts-out cry. The least she can do is pay it forward. When Rachel is in very real danger of acquiring a very large mucus stain on her pillow (and Quinn _knows_ that’s not the kind of emotion that can be acted), Quinn gives her Kleenex and, at a loss for what else to do, picks up what seems to be an old pageant sash. “Cut it _out_, will you? I mean, everyone in school’s probably imagined gagging you, but it’d be pretty cool if I actually get to.”

Rachel sputters unbecomingly. Then she actually cracks a smile, briefly.

“I wish you’d told Finn the truth. He cares about you, a lot. I wanted that to be me.”

Airily as she can, Quinn tries to brush that off. “No big deal. Everybody’s wanted to be me.”

“Maybe,” and Rachel sounds disturbingly tentative now, which is new from someone so strident, “if you’d just said something from the start, things would be okay. You should—”

That’s all Quinn cares to hear. “Puck told me you guys hooked up, you know. I’m still not mad at you for being honest, but I also don’t think it’s your place to be giving advice. Like now? My parents threw me out and your biggest problem in life is how to get slushy stains out of your granny blouses, so sorry for not thinking our situations compare.” She plucks at the edge of a pillowcase, eyes watery. Rachel’s face wavers in front of her, not particularly dry itself.

When her phone interrupts the outcome of that remark by giving the ping of a text, it’s Puck. Of course. Quinn’s teeth worry at her lower lip and the inside of her cheek before she looks at Rachel again. “I told him I was here. Is it okay?”

Together, they let him in. He asks if she’s doing okay and Quinn wants to hit him for being there, turning into a good guy again just when she was starting to get used to resenting him.

Puck’s hands rubbing at her shoulders, ten blades of warmth as fingers knead through her sleeves, and she’s almost not aware that she’s talking at all. “If Finn’s mom throws me out, I’ve got nothing.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but he had a right to know.” Then Rachel’s crying again, but in that same genuine way as before and not like this is her show to steal.

Puck shrugs. “Someone had to set things straight. They’re just not all the way straight yet.” His eyes look serious, almost like he’s thought about this. One of those hands squeezes her arm as his mouth meets up with Rachel’s, and Quinn doesn’t move a muscle until she’s tasting secondhand saltiness and all three of them have converged on the bed like the rise of a very tentative tide.

Kissing and touching and being close. So pure for Puck, so tame for even the former president of the celibacy club, or maybe Rachel’s ruffled bedspread sucks any sexiness out of the situation, but it feels really, really nice.

Sex isn’t dating, but this isn’t sex and she has no idea what else it isn’t, let alone what it is.

It’s drowsing on top of blankets that aren’t extras from Finn’s linen closet, smelling Rachel’s shampoo and Puck’s aftershave and having two different arms wrapped around her. It’s being wanted and not making bad choices or getting pushed away for making them. It’s Puck kissing Rachel’s cheek, then Quinn’s, and leaving for some fight club thing when no one asks him to stay—how can she be with a guy who has a _fight club_? “Did that make you feel any better?” Quinn asks.

“No,” Rachel says solemnly, bitten-lipped and flat-haired, looking at her like she knows something and feels terrible about it. “Do you?”

Quinn gathers up her cardigan. “No.” Showing herself the door, “I’ve got to get back to Finn’s before dinner. I think there’s going to be a family meeting.”

Rachel’s mouth opens like she’s going to say something, which isn’t irritating this time and instead makes Quinn feel an icy rush of panic. She’s down the stairs, anticipating the cool slap of sidewalk under her feet before Rachel has the chance to utter a word.


End file.
